Poetry

LIGHT OF DELIGHTby Catherine Rohsner College is where life fantastically bloomsa setting of great expectations, and when you’ve lived it:Immortality, Immaturity—a gathering of the young. Take your turn and consequences will abound:friendships, hot tea warming hands,plentiful...

FILE NUMBER THIRTY-ONEby Ken Simpson Drowning Shadows of familiar facesappear in dreamsas memoriesempty of empathybefore disappearing. The Vanity of Disbelief The lure of lunacybeckons mindsdeprived of honestyexploited by mythsamd liesabout patriotismparadise and pride.

A BAG OF HANDSBy Mather Schneider A BAG OF HANDS Jalisco, Mexico. In a black plastic bagthey found them: 12 severed handsremoved from their owners, for thievery, por rateros, and put in this bag, the kind of bagyou...

AMBITIONBy Abigail Van Kirk Ambition Scrape coffee grounds from under nails for the altar. Lift up tatters of atriums and ventricles,two each for disheartened ones,beside other meagerbruised-fruit offerings. Peaches in sick-sweet rottenness,     downing their pits and kulningwith this throat.Swallow...

NEWTON'S LAWBy Lenny Lewis  He'd been raped in Tripoliso he said. Hosted a parasite.Given it to her without asking.She sported a livid scarwhere the worm had turned. Soho before it was fashionable.Before AIDS. Long beforeevery properly...

ROUGH RIDE by George Gad Economou  Rough Ride time to spend a few hours to watch Wrestlekingdom,and I wish you were here, to crack a Wild Turkey open, crank some shit up. like events from too many years...

HOPESby Alexa Tirapelli “Hopes”His name was Bud Hopes, or Lou –something like that, or what-have-you.They found his journal in an abandoned barnamong dusty knick-knacks and next to his body,to which he had done some harm.They...

CAPRICCIOBy Maureen Eppstein  Capricciofor no reasonIl capro, the goat on the hillsudden, unpredictable change, as of one's mindhip-hobble, hip-hobblesomersaultscartwheelssunlight on white daisieson the verge of a city street, a dusty sunflowera garden planted with whirligigsamethyst...

86’d i don’t writeanymore instead i useemojis andpost cat filtered selfies with approvinglycategorized stylishcorpses who dream of findinglove behind blackmirrors to satisfy the façadeforced upon by thegiant glitchwhich gnaws away atour core persistentlytill our bones...

WINDThree Poems from Nancy Morejon’s “Mutismos”Translated by Connor L. Simons Wind A circle. A spirit. A mirror.Immediately myself.From that torturous seat,you come in pursuit of me.What do you search forunder my black figurethat hides itself,even though...